


Wishful Thinking

by yokomya



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Original Character(s), Pining, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:43:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can't save every bird with damaged wings."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishful Thinking

“I want to know his name.”

Ian utters it out of his mouth before he can stop, letting out a shaky breath and then his lips seal shut. He blinks, like he forgot the fact that he was in school and flushes.

“Ian, you always say that,” the blonde headed girl sitting in front of him mumbles over her shoulder, “It always leads to fucking - wait, _whose_ name?”

Ian sits up in his desk and leans forward, ignoring her comment, and whispers.

“The guy asleep - over there by the window.”

The blonde, Shelley, turns her head and scans the back of the classroom with emerald eyes for all of three seconds before she looks back at her best friend.

“Um, who the hell are you talking about?”

“The guy. Right there. In the corner.”

“Please tell me you see a ghost and you aren't talking about that sleazeball.”

“Whoah what? What do ya mean sleazeball?”

Shelley shakes her head and scrutinizes her polished nails with a sigh before staring back at him.

“That guy is prime Milkovich trash. The whole lot of them are. Joey, Colin, Mandy - and there’s some other siblings, who knows how many - and that over there is-”

“Shhhh!”

Shelley drops her hand and glares, turning fully around in her seat.

“Excuse me, don’t shush me when I”m-”

“I want to find out his name on my own,” Ian explains briefly, pretending to look down at the assignment they’re supposed to be reading.

“You know, the teacher has been calling his name out for like three weeks now. He’s just never in class to respond.”

“Well, I didn’t notice him before now. It can’t be helped.”

“That's because he's like a ghost. I don't know why he bothers coming.”

Ian shrugs but feels kind of bad hearing her say that. Instead of thinking too hard on it, he psychs himself up for talking to the guy after class. He doesn’t look too unapproachable after all. Besides, reputations are garbage, he’s all about getting to know the person underneath. And that’s _exactly_ what he plans to do.

Shelley scoffs and then smirks, looking over at the sleeping boy in the corner too.

“Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

Ian had no idea how true that was.

 

When class ends, the boy is still asleep, not moving an inch like everyone else. Ian takes initiative and promises to catch up with Shelley later. He swoops across the classroom until he’s a few steps from the guy’s desk, lump magically appearing in his throat as he gets closer.

He doesn’t even know why he’s so interested in this kid. This guy who never shows up to class, barely stays awake _in_ class, doesn’t even talk really - has pretty much no presence.

Yet Ian feels drawn to him.

The class is almost done clearing out so Ian gently taps on the guy’s shoulder. Instantly the black ruffled hair moves and the boy sits up, eyes disoriented and - frightened?

As soon as he zones in on who woke him - as if he expected someone else - the fear blurs into anger and he stands up.

“The fuck -” he gruffs out, bumping into Ian on his way out, not looking back once. The second he’s gone, Ian regains breath.

Okay.

This was going to be tougher than he expected.

 

The next morning, Ian watches with interest as the ghost guy comes into class, hair messy, clothes wrinkled, face still sleep stained. He ignores the teachers comments on his tardiness and hits his usual seat in the back, slumping, already dozing off.

“I still don't get why he bothers showing up,” Shelley murmurs to Ian, handing back a graded homework, accomplished grin on her face.

“Maybe he has narcolepsy,” Ian ponders, watching as the boy literally falls asleep in the span of one minute, hiding his face in his jacket sleeve.

“Or he was up late last night making drug deals,” Shelley snorts, swinging back around, crossing her legs.

Ian says nothing and class goes by as usual. When it’s over, he hops up, more determined than before. The students disappear one by one and Ian goes for a new tactic.

He aims towards the corner desk where the kid is still passed out and loudly drops a pencil - extremely satisfied when it rolls right next to the guy’s sneaker.

Ian waits eagerly, hoping it woke the guy up but when there’s no movement, he inwardly groans. Alright, so that strategy was kinda dumb - but he’ll come up with another tomorrow. He turns for the door but a voice catches him off guard.

“Gonna pick that shit up or what?”

Ian stops dead and glances back. The boy’s head is still in his arms but his eyes are visible now, sharp and frigid.

“Ern, yeah - um, okay,” Ian mumbles, crossing over to lean down and pick the pencil up - which is _clearly_ in the boy’s reach. That’s pretty annoying but well - not everyone can be chivalrous he supposes.

His fingers brush against the pencil and in a flash the boy’s foot slams on top of it, blocking Ian from grabbing it.

“What are you doing?” Ian asks, confused, biting back the anger that’s starting to swell up.

“What am _I_ doing?” the guy scowls, moving up from the desk, which doesn’t do much for intimidation since Ian has a few inches on him. Apparently it doesn’t matter though because he picks the pencil up, breaks it in half, and drops the pieces on the floor.

“Stay _the fuck_ \- away - from - me.”

Ian’s jaw drops as the guy exits the classroom soundlessly.

 

“So how are things with you and tattoos over there?” Shelley asks the next day, not as much curious as she is entertaining the idea of it.

Ian’s mouth is a tight line but eventually he lets out a puff of air so the worries can escape.

“Not so good. I’m not giving up though. I'm getting this name.”

“God, Ian, don’t do this to yourself. I'll tell you his name so this can be over and you don't waste your precious - oh so precious - kindness on someone like him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ian demands in a hushed voice. She gives him a thoughtful look.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“I'm trying to learn someone’s name. That’s all. What’s wrong with that?”

“That’s not all you’re doing.”

“If I wanted a fuck, I could get that _anywhere_ , Shells. I’m trying to get to know him.”

“Yeah and that’s why I want this to stop.”

He scrunches his eyebrows up and drops his notebook from his hands. Shelley puts a delicate palm on top of the notebook and pushes it towards him with a sad smile.

“You can’t save every bird with damaged wings.”

He frowns and doesn’t speak with her for the rest of class. The bell rings and she looks sorry as she leaves but Ian is too nervous to return the glance.

He crosses the classroom, not even bothering to wait for people to clear out and takes a seat in the now empty desk in front of the Milkovich boy.

“My name’s Ian,” he reveals, hopeful, “Can you tell me yours? That’s all and I’ll leave you alone.”

The guy doesn’t respond and Ian wonders if he’s really asleep or not. He stares at the tossled jet hair poking out between the pale arms, how it curls just a little at the edges and his hand twitches. 

“Sorry, I’ll ask tomorrow,” Ian mutters quietly, about to get back up.

“Are you a fucking stalker or something?” the guy grumbles - muffled against his sleeve. He lifts his head, looking at Ian with bleary blue eyes.

“N- no, I was-” Ian stutters, caught off guard, thinking of a smart reaction but his mind is a blank slate since the boy is staring directly at him. Up close, he seems less scary and is almost delicate somehow. Especially with the way the light is hitting his face and glowing against his skin and -

“The fuck are you looking at?” the guy snaps. He looks more uncomfortable than angry though. 

“Uh, no, you were looking at me so I-”

“You’re pissing me off.”

“Mkay, I’ll just leave. Sorry that I disturbed you. I’m really not creepy or anything-”

“Apologize one more fucking time and I’ll deck you through this window.”

“Sor-” Ian coughs the word into his curled up hand with a swallow, “So, I mean, I’ll be leaving now.”

He curses under breath - in disbelief at how jumpy he is right now because of this guy - and hops up. Maybe he should have followed Shelley’s advice and avoided this whole situation. He's pretty sure this guy has a little bite with his bark and he'd like to avoid it if he can. 

“Ay, wait up,” the guy growls out, like he’s struggling with the sentence.

Surprised, Ian pauses and the guy runs a hand through his hair, slowly standing up, knuckles dragging on the desk wood.

“I tell you my name and you leave me the hell alone, right? That’s what you want? Fucking weird creep. . . “

“Yup, that’s it,” Ian shoots back, smiling easily. 

“ _Mickey fucking Milkovich_. We done here?”

“Sure thing, Mick,” Ian grins. It hits him all of a sudden that he wants more than a name. That seeing Mickey's hard expression drop the slightest just now - when Ian smiled at him - causes a new desire.

The thought is interrupted when Mickey throws him an expression promising a near future death so he quickly backs out of the class.

 

“Mickey,” Ian notes out loud that Monday, head high. He’s careful not to say it _too_ loud because as if on cue, Mickey comes into class, practically knocking people out of his way to his desk.

When he’s in the safety of his seat, he’s staring straight ahead for a few seconds, then shivers - like he senses he’s being stared at - and flies his steel gaze to Ian, mouth curling up.

Ian looks away so fast, he thinks he has whiplash. Shelley stays quiet, studying her friend, then studies Mickey who has now resumed his habit of sleeping before class even starts. She peers at Ian again and hums in her throat.

“Why are you doing that?” Ian asks with a groan, knowing it means bad news.

“You don’t want to fuck this guy, right?”

“What? No, shut up. I know his name now. There’s nothing left to say. My mission is done.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re reading too much into this.”

“Hey, you’re the one who invited me into your little charade so don’t get all bent over backwards now. I’m just worried about you. You’re my fragile - little gay best friend, you know.”

“Wow, I’m glad you think so much of me.”

“Only the best, babe.”

They listen to the lecture and class ends. Ian follows Shelley out, using up all his willpower not to stare over at Mickey, which is _a lot_.

As soon as he’s in the hallway, the world spins around and his back is slammed against a locker, knocking the breath from between his teeth. There’s a fist scrunched in his shirt and piercing blue eyes in front of him.

“You Ian Gallagher?” the girl who shoved him into the locker asks harshly, her black hair falling over her pale cheeks.

Ian gapes, this being the first time a girl has assaulted him and nods briskly. She drops her hand from his shirt in approval and drops her voice.

“Your shit brained brother owes mine three hundred dollars. He better pay up by Friday or he’s in for the ass beating of his life."

"What? Which fucking one?" he asks tiredly. 

"The small one," she finishes curtly, backing off. 

Having nothing left to say, she vanishes down the hall in the crowd before Ian can register what happened.

“You really need some balls,” Shelley cringes from the sideline as Ian eases up off the locker.

“What the hell was I supposed to do? Hit a girl?”

“Oh, please. You have zero backbone.”

“I’m about to have zero best friends."

“Is that a threat? Oh, you poor thing,” she laughs, putting her arm around him. “By the way, _that_ was Mandy Milkovich. The oh-so-wonderful sister of your ghost boy.”

Ian sighs, wondering what he did to deserve everyone in his life to be so hostile. And then wonders why the hell Carl is mixed up with Milkoviches. There’s only one question and one answer.

Gallaghers? Gallaghers.

 

That afternoon, Ian has to make up a Math test at lunch that he doesn’t even pass. At least it isn’t a total waste of time since when he leaves the classroom, he finds Mickey Milkovich in the empty hallway, stashing something in a locker.

“Yo, Mick,” Ian calls out, going up to him nonchalantly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mickey asks, slamming the locker shut. “We’re done, remember? You think we’re best fucking buddies now or something, Gallagher?”

There’s a short silence when they both realize Mickey’s mistake and Ian actually senses his heart do a leap.

Oh shit no. No way. It was just supposed to be the name, like Shelley made sure and like Mickey made sure. But now Mickey knows _his_ name and that’s a whole game changer.

“Get out of my face,” Mickey warns, stepping around Ian. He’s careful though, like he’s walking on eggshells.

Ian is about to let it go because he doesn’t have a right to force a friendship on anyone but Jesus - the way Mickey said his name. Even just his last name - he’ll take it. It was _beautiful_.

“Yeah, okay but your sister kind of got in my face so we have a problem here," Ian complains lazily on the spot, wincing at his own choice in words. 

Damn, that’s probably not the best way to get Mickey to stick around. It _does_ work still because Mickey is back in front of him, gaze dangerous.

“We have a problem, do we? I think it’s about to get a whole hell of a lot bigger if you don’t shut that big mouth.”

“Carl is like ten years old,” Ian continues, desperately attempting to gain that backbone Shelley harrassed him about. “Would you guys lay off him? He does dumb shit but you're really going to kick a kid’s ass? Come on.”

“I’m about to kick your ass, Gallagher, if you don’t step off.”

“If it helps you be less angry, I don’t mind too much.”

Mickey is dumbfounded and recoils back in confusion. He’s at a loss so Ian just sighs, taking his wallet from his pocket.

“Whatever the hell Carl did, I guess he deserves to get a good ass kicking but just take this-”

He hands over a wad of cash - regarding Mickey who takes it instinctively and flips through it in shock. His cheeks tint when he catches how many one dollar bills are in the stack and second hand embarrassment kicks in as he meets Ian’s eyes.

“What the hell, man.”

It’s all he can say. Ian simply shrugs, waving bye to Mickey when the bell rings to indicate lunch is now over.

 

“I have a new goal,” Ian updates Shelley as soon as she sits down. She tilts her head to the side, already concerned for whatever she’s about to hear. “With Mickey, I mean. I have a new objective.”

“Could you stop acting like a kindergartner? You're not playing a video game, Ian, this is you having a hard on for this kid. Go get your rocks rubbed by someone else please.”

“Jesus, will you stop assuming I want to get in everyone’s pants?”

“Sorry, that’s what I keep hoping you’ll say is the point of this. I don’t want to see you get hurt by this asshole. He looks like a homophobic racist bastard, Ian, are you sure you want to get involved?”

Ian looks across the class where Mickey is snoozing and thinks that over. He never even considered that Mickey might be straight. For some reason, his gaydar just picked up that Mickey was the complete opposite. 

“No way in hell he’s straight. I have a knack for this, trust me.”

“Jeez, just be careful,” Shelley reminds, eyes back on the teacher.

 

Ian comes across Mickey smoking a cigarette by the soccer field one afternoon on accident. It would be humorous except the second he’s spotted, Mickey almost chokes on smoke and tenses up like they're about to fight. 

“The fuck is your problem?” he snarls.

“No, hear me out,” Ian laughs, unable to hold back how happy fate has made him, “I honestly came to check out the soccer practice. You just happened to be checking out the game too so that’s not my fault.”

“I’m smoking, dumb ass, and unless you’re blind - you can see there’s no annoying ass teachers to bother me which is why I'm here.”

“But you’re also watching the soccer players,” Ian suggests. When it slips out, Mickey’s pupils shrink and he exhales a long drag, releasing it straight towards Ian.

“You fucking trynna say something?”

“I’m observing is all,” Ian brushes off, tone lighthearted. He focuses on the soccer players idly, mainly keeping an eye on Mickey’s murderous glare out of his peripheral vision.

“So, you fucking gay or something?” Mickey blurts aggressively, like it’s been bottled up for a while. Ian almost grins. “You just come watch guys prance around for fun?”

Ian thinks that’s a childish way to put it but keeps that to himself and goes for another tact.

“Why? Would you hate me any less if I am?”

“Forget I fucking asked.”

“I like guys,” Ian answers in a breeze, “Do you?”

They don’t speak for a few minutes and then Mickey crushes his finished tobacco off on the dirt, storming off.

 

“What the hell is this?” Shelley sighs as soon as Ian come in class. He looks at her, pleased with himself, and drops his backpack on the ground. “Why are you - I don’t even know what to say.”

“Why am I so hot? Come on, use your words.”

“Oh, shut it. Yes, why are you so hot?”

Ian leans back in his seat, stretching his long legs out, daring a glance to his left where Mickey is asleep at his desk.

He made sure to wear a nice pair of tight jeans and a soft v-neck to show off his collarbones today, just 'cus. Not to mention slicking his red hair back a bit brought out his bright eyes. Something about that silence when Ian had asked Mickey if he was gay got to his head.

Shelley licks her lips in frustration. 

“Goddammit, could you not be gay just for one night? My parents aren’t in town and I want to eat you up.”

“That’s tempting,” Ian laughs, “But sorry, Shells.”

“You’re such a tease.”

She turns back around and Ian throws another look Mickey’s way but he hasn’t raised his head all lecture.

Aggravated, he flies out of his desk as soon as the bell rings and follows in footstep with Shelley into the hallway. Even the flirty eyes from some pretty girls in the hall don't boost his confidence. 

When he drops Shelley off at her class, he descends the stairwell, playfully half sliding down the railing and lands at the bottom, stumbling back when he’s met with Mandy at the door.

“Hey,” she starts off, biting her lip, “Ian Gallagher.”

“Mandy,” Ian responds slowly, “Milkovich.”

They look at each other and Ian awkwardly clears his throat.

“So, yeah, I need to go to class.”

“My bad that I messed with you the other day,” she huffs out, like she was angry about apologizing. The air clears of that sentence and her features soften. “I’m protective of my brothers.”

“So am I,” Ian agrees, “It’s nothing.”

“Hm, you seem more confident than I remember,” she studies, Milkovich blue eyes going up and down his body. “It’s a good look for you.”

“Thanks,” he stammers, genuinely appreciative, “Er - I’m going to head to class now.”

“Call me if you wanna hang,” she interrupts, pulling his hand into her own, already jotting inky digits on the skin. “'Kay?”

He’s about to tell her that she’s barking up the wrong tree but she’s already gone.

The only thing he’s learned about the Milkovich’s thus far is that they’re both really fucking good magicians.

 

In less than a week, Mandy is practically glued to Ian. She catches him in the hallways and is all over him - like they’ve been close for years now. She even squeezes his ass sometimes. It’s overwhelming.

“It’s hilarious,” Shelley snickers into a cup of coffee in her hand that she picked up before school. She’s leaning on Ian’s desk, laughing at the Mandy stories - lapping them up like a cat after milk.

“I’m glad you’re so helpful,” Ian deadpans, “Because this is actually a problem.”

“You should clear it up then,” Shelley muses, “You’re making it worse by not saying anything.”

“I don’t know, everytime I try she somehow cuts me off!”

“Look, if she’s being a bitch and harassing you - draw a line.”

“Why do you keep assuming the worst?” Ian asks, face falling, “Mandy’s not a bitch. She’s actually super nice.”

“Oh, my mistake,” Shelley replies dully, “But you’re the one who’s afraid to say anything to her. Man up. Stop complaining if you’re not going to do anything about it.”

“Fine.”

Not wanting to admit she’s right, he hangs his head low.

Class ends so Ian grabs his stuff and is about to tell Shelley sorry until Mickey appears from thin air by his desk, features grave.

“You. Me. Outside,” he sneers, dragging Ian out of the desk.

Shelley opens her mouth to protest but Ian shakes his head, saying it’s okay, and goes with Mickey into the hallway. Not that he has much choice since he’s still being steered along by force.

True to his word, he pulls Ian outside and far from passerby earshot, dropping his hand from Ian’s arm.

“You fucking my sister?” he asks - like he's asking about the weather.

Ian tingles a little at how close Mickey is, realizing just how bad he's got it for this guy. This sucks.

“Nope,” he answers, having no other comment.

“You _wanna_ fuck her?”

“Didn’t we already establish I don’t swing for that team, Mick?”

Mickey bites his nail anxiously, like something else is weighing on his mind and then grimaces up - snapping out of the daze.

“Stop calling me that, all fucking familiar and shit. . . “

“Could you tell your sister that I really like her but not in that way? That would be awesome.”

“This ain’t fucking middle school, fucker. Tell her yourself.”

“So why do you wanna know then? Is this a protective Milkovich code thing?” Ian wonders curiously, feigning innocence. Mickey instantly looks to the side and holy shit - he’s cute.

“Touch Mandy and I break your nose.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m not trying to get with-”

“Good. Keep it that way,” Mickey snaps, making it a point to shove Ian and stalk off, leaving all other questions unanswered.

 

Mandy has backed off some, either due to a conversation with Mickey - although that’s highly unlikely - or more so because Ian has made it more and more obvious that the thought of being near a woman’s sex organs does absolutely nothing for him.

She’s basically shoved her breasts against him, pressed herself into his nonexistent boner and has found out the hard way just how not interested he is. Luckily, she isn’t deterred from staying friends with him, much to Shelley’s disapproval.

“Why do you hate the Milkovich’s so much?” Ian inquires in the middle of lunch one Tuesday. He pushes his food around and waits patiently since this has bugged him for a while.

“Because," Shelley says sternly, "Mandy lit a girl’s hair on fire once. She also gave another girl a bloody nose before proceeding to drag said girl around the bathroom, getting her blood everywhere, and then threatened to tell everyone it was the girl’s miscarriage.”

“Uh,” Ian is speechless. He can't look at his food now. “That might be an exaggeration or made up. You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“And you may be right but if it _is_ true, Mandy Milkovich is bad news. And so are her brothers. They're not nice people.”

“So what? Maybe they have a rough life, you know? What if they can’t catch a break or something?” Ian convinces weakly, flinching at the disapproval on Shelley’s face.

“You have a rough home life Ian and you don’t terrorize anybody because of it. There’s no excuse to treat people that way. And you know what - I think you’re giving them the benefit of the doubt because you want to help them. You think you can cure them or whatever.”

“Not _cure_ ,” Ian urges, skin crawling with a new irritation, “Mickey always looks so lonely in class though so I wanted to. . . I wanted to. . . “

He goes quiet and Shelley puts her sandwich down, taking Ian’s hand gently.

“That’s not your responsibility. You have your own problems to take on. Did you ever think maybe they like it that way? Mickey might not talk because he doesn’t want to. He might like being by himself. You have to let this go or you’re going to drive yourself crazy. They don’t seem like the type to make friends, Ian. You should probably keep your distance.”

Ian pulls his hand out of her loose grip and drops it in his lap lamely, embarrassed at her accusation.

“That’s not fair. If we all think that way, nobody will ever help anyone. Nobody will care how lonely anyone is. I can’t help it that I care. Sorry if it bothers you.”

He gets up and doesn’t even take his full tray of food with him, he just exits the cafeteria, heart sunken.

 

Despite what he said to Shelley, Ian avoids contact with Mandy in the hallways and doesn’t even spare Mickey a glance for the rest of the week. It’s probably true, at least most of what she told him.

He can’t meddle around with people who don’t seem like they want to be meddled with. Mandy might be nice to an extent but she isn’t exactly going out of her way to hunt Ian down and hang out like normal friends do or anything - now that the attraction is gone.

And guess he was stupid for believing he could have something with Mickey. It shouldn't be a shock that Mickey probably hates him if anything.

Ian sulks near the soccer field during the lunch period, sitting down on the prickly grass to watch the practice. Too bad he can’t even bother admiring the players right now, his spirits are too low.

“You couldn’t have picked another fucking spot?” Mickey mutters, coming up with a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Sorry,” Ian responds on impulse, standing up and brushing himself off. He turns to leave but Mickey jerks him back by the hood of his jacket, gritting his teeth.

“Jesus, Gallagher, sit down. How do you survive Southside like that?”

Ian stares at him, heartbeat rising, and slides back down to the grass. It's gotta be a dream though because Mickey plops next to him, blowing out a fresh stream of smoke, relaxed like they do this all the time.

“Which player you like?” Mickey presses out of the blue, voice even and uninterested. Ian stares at him, tongue drying but Mickey glares so he turns his eyes to the field.

“Uh, fourteen is easy on the eyes, I think.”

“What the fuck, you have shit tastes,” Mickey assesses, tapping some of the ash off his cigarette, chin jutting out. “Jersey eight is where it’s at.”

Jersey eight and fourteen run at each other, slap hands, and fly down the field tossing the ball back and forth, dodging their practice teammates. Soon enough, the two make a score and slap hands again, cheering for themselves. Ian would laugh at the irony if he wasn't so down. 

He decides not to challenge Mickey’s patience by bringing up that his gaydar was right and pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his face on them.

“Do you ever wish that you were down there? Playing with everyone? It looks fun, having friends like that,” Ian murmurs, speaking to himself more than anything.

The wind picks up and blows the grass against his arms, making him shiver, and someone on the field whistles. Mickey is quiet so Ian assumes that their little bonding moment is over.

The game seems to be over and the guys all swarm around each other, in a tight circle, laughing and winding down together.

Ian then peeks at Mickey who's looking out at the soccer field, eyes forlorn, expression unreadable. He puts out his unfinished cigarette and breathes.

“Yeah.”

That’s all he says.

It brings an unforgettable heaviness to Ian’s chest.

 

Shelley looks dead at Ian when she gets to class the next morning. Her face isn’t made up today, her hair isn’t braided back, and her eyes are reddened at the edges, like she’s been crying all night.

“I’m so sorry for what I said. You're super sweet and always think about everyone before yourself, even if it hurts you. That's why we're still friends, because you deal with my bullshit. I really cherish you, Ian. Will you forgive me?”

She peers down at him anxiously, ready for whatever he has to say back. 

Ian smiles automatically and reaches up to pull her down into a hug.

“You don't have to ask me that.”

 

During the last day before winter break, Ian finalizes plans with Shelley to hang out over the holidays before heading to his next class. At the water fountain, he bumps into Mandy.

“Hey,” she greets, happy and shy.

"Hey, Mandy."

She kicks her foot out and hits his softly, brightening instantly when he does it back.

“So, my family doesn’t do much for Christmas but if you’re free, can we hang out?”

Ian leans up from the fountain and doesn’t hesitate to nod.

“Yeah, anytime."

She jolts forward - almost knocking him over - and hugs him tight. He's trying to catch his breath once she let’s go and they both laugh, filling the hollow halls with it.

 

On his way to the bus lot, he’s pulled back by the hood and met with Mickey’s cold gaze. The two stare at each other for a second - Ian trying to figure out what he’s done to piss Mickey off this time - and then Mickey finally musters up what he needs to get out.

“We were on the same little league team, Gallagher.”

A blush crawls over Ian’s face and he gulps, “Yeah.”

Mickey looks torn on how to proceed and shoves his hands into his pocket, chewing his lip, blinking and breaking eye contact.

“For fuck’s sake-” he says under breath, “Just meet me at that same lot we used to play at tonight - _midnight_. Got that?”

Ian feels like someone stole the air from his lungs so he dumbly nods, unsure of if this means what he thinks it means. But before he can find out - Mickey is gone, as if he never came.

 

Believing in Mickey, Ian shows up at the old baseball lot near his house that night - carefully entering the silent field, cloaked in darkness and starlight. There isn't a soul in sight but he stays positive when he looks at the time and sees there's still a minute 'till.

He thinks about how thoughtless it was to go up and bother Mickey - how inconsiderate it was actually. To assume Mickey felt out of some loop and didn't interact with anyone because he felt like he didn't belong. Ian shouldn't have assumed that. 

At least by reaching out instead of shutting down the idea of becoming friends he got to know a little bit about him. That has to count for something.

Maybe someday they _can_ become friends - or more than that. Even if it's wishful thinking.

The watch on his wrist strikes twelve and in no less than a second, Mickey shows up, climbing over one of the chain link fences - miraculously managing to do it with a beer in one hand and a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

It takes a few seconds to reach Ian and his only greeting is a nod. 

He offers Ian a sip of beer. Then a drag from the cigarette.

And then says nothing and starts undressing.

Okay -  so Ian _did_ intend to only find out Mickey’s name from the beginning - _only_ his name. It’s all he wanted, truthfully. Honest to God, that’s it.

But damn, this is so much better.  


End file.
